


each pure and burning moment

by pyotr



Series: the terror kink meme fills [4]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Other, Pining, The Terror Kink Meme, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 14:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyotr/pseuds/pyotr
Summary: (de-anon)edward did not like it, the way he always found his gaze drawn to jopson. occasionally the steward would catch his staring and give him a small, polite smile, and edward would look away sharply, his heart beating a flurry within his chest. he had always found something like pride, in his detachedness; had thought that it made him more objective in his judgements. now, though, he just felt like he was drifting, a boat cut from the pier and lost at sea.





	each pure and burning moment

**Author's Note:**

> Jopson/Little, pining, UST
> 
> yes I want to suffer. Give me Little and Jopson awkwardly pining on each other and trying to find sensible reasons to touch/see the other during the day. Bonus if someone (possibly Crozier) is painfully aware of what's happening.

edward liked to think he was the observant sort.

he knew what others thought of him, stand-offish and quiet, perhaps even saw his reticence as arrogance. he was the captain’s second aboard _terror,_ after all; it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that he saw himself above the rest of the men aboard. it wasn’t true, but it was easy to think so.

but he watched those around him as they moved about their day, they way they responded to his presence, what they did when they thought he wasn’t watching. it was less out of any professional obligation than it was a habit; for all his quietness, as a child edward had rather grown to enjoy people watching, and sailors were always interesting people.

so, he was observant. that was a useful thing for an officer. it was also a bit of a burden. it meant that he always noticed things, or at least one thing in particular.

thomas jopson was an exemplary example of what a steward should be. he was polite without being bland, courteous without seeming self-serving; he was subtle in his duties and attentive to his captain. when he’s feeling put out or uncharitable, edward will sometimes think that jopson was too good of a steward to be stuck waiting on a man like francis crozier.

he is also terribly, unfortunately, horribly, stunningly attractive.

perhaps he wasn’t aware of it, edward thought. after all, it was difficult for one to see beauty in themselves- that was what one of his sisters had said, a long time ago. jopson’s pale eyes were striking, the first and most noticeable thing about him, but they were warm and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. though he was only a handful of years edward’s junior his face was near boyish in its handsomeness, something of the innocent about him. and his hair- dark, neatly styled save a bit at the front that seemed as if it could never be tamed, flopping down across his forehead just enough that it would need brushing aside. and, by god, his _hands-_

no, that was fair enough of that.

edward did not like it, the way he always found his gaze drawn to jopson. occasionally the steward would catch his staring and give him a small, polite smile, and edward would look away sharply, his heart beating a flurry within his chest. he had always found something like pride, in his detachedness; had thought that it made him more objective in his judgements. now, though, he just felt like he was drifting, a boat cut from the pier and lost at sea.

the captain called him, sometimes, when edward gave his nightly report. he would have thought little of it past his own discomfort had it not happened more and more frequently, had he not caught glimpse of the amused glimmer in the captain’s eye every time edward straightened as jopson entered the room. he suspected the captain enjoyed it, making his sweat with that fear and nervousness, idly trying to break edward’s composure as several commanding officers had attempted before.

(none had succeeded but crozier was close, closer than most, and it was only a coincidence that edward had felt less fond and more exasperated with the man, of late.)

so edward tried to avoid jopson as often as he could. it was impossible to hide from him completely, of course; the ship was only so big, and jopson was the captain’s steward and he the captain’s second, bound to cross paths more than occasionally.

once, just once, jopson catches him in the back of the captain’s store room tallying what was left of their brandy and whisky. it was more a closet than anything, hardly enough for one man let alone two, and when jopson half-stepped through the door edward was left unable to turn, glancing uneasily over his shoulder.

jopson doesn’t move away immediately, either, and for a few heartbeats edward was _warm,_ the two of them nearly pressed back to front, but then the moment passes and jopson steps back, a polite, apologetic smile on his face.

“i’m sorry, lieutenant little,” he says, and he sounds it, but he doesn’t move farther than the doorway. it’s enough room for edward to turn, however, and he does, quickly. “the captain requested—"

“whisky or brandy?” edward cuts him off. his heart is beating a staccato rhythm against his ribs.

“brandy, tonight,” jopson answers slowly, pulling on a slightly bemused expression, though it was almost certain that for a brief his eyes flicked down to edward’s mouth.

edward reaches for a bottle, fumbling slightly, and jopson is entirely proper and composed when he takes it, their hands brushing only slightly. still, even that miniscule touch is enough to make edward’s breath catch. “thank you, sir. enjoy the rest of your night?”

“thank you,” edward says on reflex, just barely biting back a flinch. but jopson only smiles at him, something a little more than his usual steward’s smile that he wears at officer’s meetings. “you as well, mister jopson.”

later, later, edward is in his cabin with his face pressed into the lumpy pillow, near-sweating. his things are on the floor but he is still wearing his boots, his trousers pulled to his knees; he’d been too impatient to remove them entirely. one hand is wrapped around his cock, and the other is is three fingers and knuckle-deep in his ass.

the position is indecent, making his knees and shoulders ache, but that only makes it better, really. edward squeezes his eyes shut and bites his cheek to swallow back a moan, clumsily rocking back and forth between his fingers and his palm, the bunk creaking with the movement; a small part of him, the only part of him that is unfocused on the situation at hand, prays that hodgson next door or anyone who walks by will simply think it is the ship groaning in the ice.

he pretends that it was jopson inside him, jopson’s hand stroking him roughly, and wishes he had the time to be slow, the space to be loud. he thinks of earlier, the heat of jopson’s body against his back, and stifles a whine in the pillow.

it was pathetic of him, perhaps, to want so badly, to want to be _wanted_ so badly, but edward had few vices and so he allowed himself this shameful secret. he had tried to ignore it, at first, shutting himself down when he found his mind wandering, but then his dreams had betrayed him as well: conjuring up thoughts of jopson’s finely-boned hands on his thighs as he spread him open, his mouth that was so prone to smiles instead swallowing down edward’s cock.

“mister jopson,” he moans into the pillow, but that doesn’t feel quite right, so he tries, “thomas…”

it’s an intimate thing, saying his name aloud, and edward keens as he crooks his fingers, legs quivering. arousal pools in his gut like hot lead, heavy and burning, and buries a long, low groan; he was close, edward knew, pushed along by the thoughts he pulled up of jopson’s voice, his fingers, his mouth, the slick slide of his own fist. he could feel himself pull taut and thin, teetering at the edge of the cliff, and his world narrows down to his hand curled around his leaking cock and the fingers pressed inside of him, bending just right and pressing against that spot that made every nerve in his body _sing_ —

he thinks of the way jopson’s had glanced at his mouth hours earlier, how something subtle had shifted in his face that edward couldn’t read, and he comes whimpering _thomas_ over and over like a prayer.


End file.
